We’re going to do something a little different today.
Pinterest is a social “dream board” that’s grown to gigantic proportions over the last year. If you aren’t on Pinterest yet, you’re a man.
Today, let’s use it to find some writing inspiration. We’re all going to find a picture on Pinterest that captures our imagination, we’ll link to it, and then write about it here. Sound fun?
NOTE: If you aren’t on Pinterest yet, you’ll need to get an invite. Email me a note with your email address and “Pinterest” as the subject, and I’ll get you in.
Here’s the Pinterest guide for writers.
Step 1. Log on to Pinterest and start browsing your friends “pins.” If you don’t have any friends to browse, follow me!
Step 2. Once you choose a picture, pin it to the Writing Prompts board. This step is optional, but I think it would be super fun to have a group board of writing prompts. So if you’d like to join it, let me know what your pinterest email address is in the comments or over email and I’ll add you to the board so you can pin your photo prompt there.
Step 3. Write for fifteen minutes! (You knew that was coming, right?)
Step 4. When you’re finished, post your practice in the comments section at the bottom of this post. Also, copy and paste the link from the photo you’ve chosen into your practice so we know what you’re writing about.
Step 5. Comment on a few other Pinterest Practices.
He lived in the Mountain. When it got cold he built a fire and moved his very close and tilted his face toward the fire with his eyes closed until his face glows with warmth, and sometimes when I would watch him like this it seemed like his habitual grimace was actually a sort of smile, even if it was a very ugly smile. He sat like this often for it often gets cold when you live in a mountain.
He had lived beside the Mountain all his life. He was born in a village called Rodnicht in the foothills below but he told me he didn’t like to spend his time in the village. He told me, his eyes flickering with reflected fire and his grimace smiling at me, he would come up to the Mountain early in the morning before the sun was awake. The Mountain is always awake, he said, and so he would climb up to its face to make friends.
“How do you make friends with a mountain?” I asked.
He sat there for a moment not answering, and his grimace really did look like a smile. “You must be very old to be friends with the Mountain. The Mountain is also very old.”
“But you were not very old when you first came up here, I’m sure?” I said, puzzled.
“Yes, you must be very old,” he said again. I didn’t know if he didn’t hear me, because by then he really was old, but I dropped it. I often wonder, though, if he did hear me. Perhaps even as a child he was a very old man.